Eyed

Rough gusts of wind stalk the street, dragging shrouds of rattling leaves which darkle with moonlight. Pine tops bend, bare oaks quiver, the wild plum rustles and shakes. My pant legs flutter and slap my skin. They are icy cold. As I turn to go in, my eye is caught by two bright specks near a fence post across the street. They are like two faint blue-white stars. They blink. A cat is there. I picture its fur rumpling with each gust of wind as it watches me. I am too cold, and return to the house. Later, I go back out, and the eyes are still there, peering. I wonder how long the cat has lain there, braving the chill night. Then the small lights wink out, and a moment later, the motion sensing yard light of the house beyond flashes on. I see a small gray form slink behind a clump of plants, and then a dim shadow scurries from there to a fence, and scales it. The light goes out. The wind keeps blowing, and the clear sky is full of unmoving stars that glitter with unattainable heat.

Again, Brrrr!

An abundance of birds continue to visit the yard and fill the declining garden with cheerful chirps despite the early onset of wintry cold. I've seen fewer crows for the last few days, though. There has been less noise of falling acorns this year, too. I'm thinking that the squirrels nabbed them all right from the trees. They must be expecting a harsh season. There has already been considerable snow at the higher elevations. A foolhardy nephew went camping over the long weekend, and tells us that one night they went to sleep on bare ground and woke the next morning to eight inches of snow. I don't relish the thought of the snow's descent to this elevation, but I suspect that it will come. It's very pretty coming down, and makes a nice picture-postcard landscape, but it isn't the sort of thing I like to live with, day after day. Besides, I have no mittens.